


A Pirate's Life For Me

by Jemima_Puddleduck



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, John is Perfect, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Married Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Pirate Sherlock, Pirates, Sherlock is a Good Parent, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy John, Sleepy Kisses, Sleepy Sherlock, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 18:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10444194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemima_Puddleduck/pseuds/Jemima_Puddleduck
Summary: Sherlock and John are having a day at home with Rosie playing pirates. Chaos and cuteness ensue.





	

Sherlock ran through 221B, brandishing a large wooden sword. Rosie was hot on his heels, careening towards him as fast as her stumpy five year-old legs would allow. She wore a jet black hat emblazoned with a skull and crossbones. It was far too big, falling into her eyes and bouncing up and down as she ran. Sherlock had produced it from a box of his old childhood toys and he had felt a strange sense of pride in putting it on Rosie's own head. He had never believed he would ever have children to play pirates with, yet here he was. 

Neglecting to look where he was going, Sherlock slammed headlong into John, almost head-butting his husband in the impact. Rosie collapsed to the ground at his feet, chest heaving and giggles spilling out of her mouth in a happy torrent. 

"Yarr!" John shouted with conviction, getting into the role play. "I be Captain John Watson and this is my boat! Tell me your name or you'll be walkin' the plank." 

Instead of complying with the order, Rosie struck the captain in the shin with her own small, wooden sword. John feigned serious injury, yelling out in pain before leaning down to scoop her up in his arms. 

"That be the last straw little lass!" He told her with a heavy accent. "To the plank we go!" 

He ran her to his and Sherlock's bedroom, where Rosie was made to 'walk the plank'. It was really just a short walk off the bed until she tumbled into a pile of cushions. She squealed and batted around in the heaving mass of puffy fabric while her parents watched tenderly. 

It wasn't long before their game had evolved into violent sword fights in the centre of the living room. Mrs Hudson walked past occasionally, taking in the so-called 'pirates' with a fond expression. Rosie was perched on Sherlock's shoulders, hanging on to Sherlock's own pirate hat that sat atop his mess of inky black curls. She waved her sword down ineffectually at John, who was trying to poke Sherlock in the ribs as they fought. Sherlock let out an indignant squeak as John tickled him and suddenly his husband had taken Rosie from his shoulders and was tickling him mercilessly. Sherlock squealed and flailed as he collapsed to the carpet. John alternated between tickling Rosie and Sherlock as they lay side by side on the floor, his questing fingers drawing uncontrollable laughs from their throats. 

John's husband and daughter lay panting on the floor, clutching each other for protection. John stepped back , admiring his handiwork and his heart was fit to burst as he looked down at his perfect little family. He knew he'd always wanted this, a family he truly loved with children to care for; but one thing he never anticipated was the form that his long-desired family life would take. Sherlock looked at Rosie, eyes brimming with fondness. He held her in his arms and the devotion and care in his gentle touches was obvious. John's heart melted all over again. Despite this not being what he'd expected from domestic life, he couldn't be happier. 

Sherlock stood up, taking a softly giggling Rosie to their 'ship'; a blanket fort of cushions and pillows set up underneath the kitchen table. Sherlock had difficulty crawling in and his tall, wiry frame curled over to shimmy under the blankets. He took Rosie in his lap and she reached out for one of the books they had stacked up in the corner. 

"This one." She told Sherlock. He was busy peering out, watching to see if John was outside. 

"This one dad." She said more insistently, pushy the book into his hands. Sherlock never tired of being called 'dad'. He was proud that Rosie had accepted him as a real parent and his stomach flipped happily every time he heard her calling out to him. 

"Okay Redbeard." He said fondly, stroking her wispy, blonde curls from her forehead as she settled in his lap. 

She always liked it best when Sherlock read to her, he was good at accents and could play any character with ease. He had no trouble creating a voice for each hero or villain that appeared, and he always remembered how they sounded. However, when both of her fathers read to her together, the stories never failed to enthral her. When they told her stories together it was never from a book, yet they seemed to have a whole library. She would specially request the story of the pink lady in the abandoned castle; when the limping soldier came to live with the handsome prince and had a meal cooked by the cheerful italian chef. She trembled at the tales of the terrifying spider who would snatch people up to wrap in his web and the evil aunt who stowed people away in her labyrinth, far away on an island. She laughed when the prince forgot to wear pants to the palace and when she discovered that the character they called the Queen, was in reality her own Uncle Mycroft.

John didn't join in this time, he simply crawled in beside them and listened to Sherlock. He almost felt tears in his eyes as he watched his husband bend his head down to read over Rosie's shoulder, reciting the words close to her ear with his gentle, rumbling baritone. Rosie's eyelids began to droop like wilting petals and the wooden sword she still clutched fell from her slackened grip. Sherlock could feel her melting into him, we exhausted limbs draining of energy one by one. He continued to read, letting his relaxing murmurs wash over her until she was half-asleep and slumped over in his arms. 

"Have a rest then bumble." He whispered gently, laying her down on the cushions. She smiled without opening her eyes. The nickname 'bumble' always made her grin. Sherlock had started to use it when he realised that 'bumblebee' was too much of a mouthful. 

John shuffled over to his husband when Rosie was softly asleep. Sherlock wound his arms round him and placed a warm kiss on his lips. He could see that John was getting tired, he could tell by the way his hands fumbled clumsily on his shoulders and by the slackness in his face. This was Sherlock's favourite time to kiss him, when he was pleasantly sleepy and ended up kissing the corner of his mouth with lazy lips instead of aiming properly. His soft, contented smile was the most beautiful thing in the world to Sherlock Holmes and he could never see enough of it. He loved the way John's eyes crinkled at the corners and the warm blush on his cheeks. 

He let John slump happily into his arms and together they lay back onto the soft feather pillows next to their daughter. John was always the the protective one, curling around Sherlock tightly and letting the detective's head rest on his chest. He could feel John's soft cable-knit jumper on his skin and he breathed in the scent happily, the plush wool tickling his nose. John's face was in Sherlock's hair and the couple's legs were wrapped around each other loosely, with warm socked feet brushing together. Rosie snored peacefully next to them and they basked in the glow of the perfect family that neither of them imagined they'd have.


End file.
